So Close
by Ceathra
Summary: No longer a one-shot. Random fCousland/Zevran fluff, rated for Zev's filthy mind. I may add more later.
1. Chapter 1

Elspeth sat staring at the firelight flickering dimly through the walls of her tent, sleep eluding her as it did so often these days. She sighed. On nights like this, with weary muscles and half-healed wounds reminding her of every battle fought, she longed desperately for sleep, but when it came, uneasy and nightmare-haunted, she almost missed the insomnia.

A cool breeze whispered across her cheek as the tent flap was pushed aside briefly and allowed to fall closed. She didn't turn to see who it was. There was only one of her companions who would slip into her tent so silently in the middle of the night, "Zev."

The elf looked down at her where she sat with her back to him. Without her usual heavy armor, dressed in only a plain cotton tunic and leggings, she looked so small and almost fragile. He felt an odd, unexpected twinge of some nameless emotion that had absolutely nothing to do with his purpose in her tent tonight. Firmly squashing the inconvenient _feeling_, Zevran observed happily that he now stood at the perfect angle to look over the warden's head and down the front of her tunic. He smiled, then observed, in a tone of mock worry, "You look so tired, my dear."

Elspeth sighed, and smiled ruefully up at him, "Can't sleep."

"Hmm," Zevran pretended to ponder as he knelt down behind her. "I think I know what you need," he cupped his hands gently around her shoulders. "May I?"

Elspeth leaned into his touch, and as he worked the knots out of her weary muscles, and gave a small, contented sigh. "That feels nice."

He chuckled. "One does learn a thing or two, growing up in an Antivan whorehouse," he reminded her.

"I suppose one would," He could hear the smile in her voice. It was a lovely sound.

He moved his attention from her muscular shoulders down to the small of her back, and was rewarded with a low groan that set his pulse racing with anticipation. He leaned closer, never quite letting his chest touch her back, breathing in her warm, smoky scent, and slid his hands slowly under the hem of her tunic to caress the silken skin of her waist.

Her breath caught, and Zevran felt her tense under his hands. "What's wrong?" he breathed into her ear.

"Zev, I…I'm not sure about this…" she stammered a little unsteadily.

He laughed softly. "What is there to fear, my Grey Warden? You deserve a little fun, do you not?"

It was with some annoyance that he felt her body thrumming with the tension he had just worked so hard to rid her of, but she did not pull away from him. "I'm just not sure I'm ready for…that…yet," she sighed, and her shoulders slumped miserably. "Maker, I sound stupid. I'm not saying no; just…not yet…please?"

He'd almost had her. He could hear it in the tremor in her voice, feel it in her body, straining as much towards him as away from him. Even now, he knew that one more well-chosen word, one more seductive touch could probably change her mind. But something, perhaps the same strange, almost protective feeling that had struck him when he first entered her tent, made him withdraw his hands and get to his feet, pausing only to brush one feather-light kiss across the skin at the nape of her neck. "Another time then," he murmured huskily. "If you're lucky."

Then he was gone, and Elspeth sat, staring at nothing, her knees drawn up to her chest, her skin still tingling from the touch of his lips, the air in her tent suddenly cold with his absence.


	2. Chapter 2

There was, Zevran reflected, something intensely erotic about watching a beautiful woman wield an enormous sword. His lips curved into a predatory smile as he watched Elspeth's lovely body sway and bend to counterbalance the mighty broadsword in her hands. He was fortunate indeed that she had given him explicit permission to stare at her—he was not sure he would have been able to resist at the moment.

The Warden finished her last set of drills and strode back toward the campfire, bending to pick up her scabbard on the way and inadvertently giving Zevran a marvelous view of her cleavage as she did so. She carefully set the sheathed sword on the ground within easy reach, then flopped down comfortably next to the elf, arching a questioning eyebrow at his smirk. "Do I want to ask what you're thinking?"

He shrugged innocently, his grin broadening. "I was merely thinking how much I would love to see you dance, my dear."

Elspeth laughed. "No you wouldn't. I'm a _terrible_ dancer. Poor old Ser Humphries swears I was the student who drove him to drink."

He looked at her thoughtfully. "So, this Ser Humphries… he was you dancing teacher, yes?" She nodded. "And what was he like?"

"Drunk, mostly," Her brow furrowed. "And rather unhappy… at least whenever I was around, but as I said, that may have been my fault. Why?"

"Ah," Zevran nodded sagely. "There is your problem. Dancing is not something you can just _teach_ as you would train your dog to hunt rabbits. Dance, you must _feel_ to understand. If you are taught by someone who makes you feel awkward and uncomfortable, how can you learn to feel the music? Come!" he sprang to his feet. "I will show you."

Elspeth blinked. "What?"

"I will teach you to dance _properly_," He beckoned her to stand up. "Come, I insist. Leliana, give us something we can dance to."

The bard, who had been staring into the fire and plucking occasional soft, dreamy notes from the strings of her lute, smiled and struck up a galliard.

Elspeth stood reluctantly, but she allowed Zevran to position her body against his. She moved woodenly in his arms, her eyes fixed on the ground, her lower lip clenched between her teeth in concentration. When Zevran stopped with a sigh, she only shook her head. "I told you I'm no good at this. I can never remember which foot goes where."

He released her hand for a moment to gently tilt her chin up until their eyes met. "Then forget about your feet. Look at me. Follow where I lead. Your feet will find their own way."

She frowned dubiously at this, but obeyed, and gradually he felt her relax into the rhythm he set. Smiling, Zevran allowed himself to relax a little too, enjoying the feel of her body next to his, the intriguing contrast of hard muscle and soft woman-flesh, the heat of her, warming him through the thin cotton tunic she had worn for her sword training, the faint lavender smell of her hair…

Suddenly one of Elspeth's forgotten feet caught on something, a rock or a tree root rising up out of the ground. With a loud yelp of surprise, she tumbled over backward, accidentally dragging Zevran with her in an awkward, but not entirely unpleasant tangle of arms and legs.

Alistair poked his head out of his tent. "Would you keep it dow—Oh!" he stopped, his ears turning bright red when he saw the position his fellow Warden was in. "Uh… never mind."

Elspeth rolled her eyes at her friend. "Zev was just teaching me to dance."

The former templar made a face. "I don't want to know what that's supposed to be a euphemism for," he declared, drawing back into his tent.

"It's not a…" Elspeth began, then sighed and turned back to Zevran. "Why does everyone insist on believing that I'm sleeping with you?"

The elf, who remained sprawled half on top of her, arched an eyebrow. "Is that such a terrible thought?"

Elspeth blushed. "Well… no," she admitted. "But it's not true."

He nodded. "And you worry what the others will think if you are believed to be… ah… _consorting_ with an elf _and_ a foreigner _and_ an assassin," He had not believed she thought of him that way, but she was, he reminded himself, the daughter of a Teyrn, and must understand politics and the hazards of inappropriate affairs.

She frowned. "Of course not. I just wish people would believe me when I'm telling the truth."

Zevran rolled off of her and pursed his lips thoughtfully. "So… it is not the thought of making love to me that troubles you…"

There was that adorable blush again. "No."

"And it is not concern for your reputation…"

"I'm a Grey Warden. Everyone thinks I'm a traitor and a regicide anyway."

"It is merely that our companions believe something of you that is untrue."

"Exactly!"

He smiled dazzlingly. "Why then, I have the perfect solution!"

She sat up, eying him warily. "You know how to change the minds of everyone in this camp, _without_ convincing Morrigan to use blood magic on them?"

"Ah, no," he shook his head. "I don't think that is possible, in fact."

"Then what…?"

"If it bothers you so much that everyone believes something that is untrue, then we make it true," he snapped his fingers. "Simple as that!"

He could tell the exact moment she realized what he was suggesting—her face abruptly went beet red and she started stammering helplessly, "Um… I… uh… I… you… um… Good night, Zev!" She scrambled to her feet, gathered her sword in her arms and retreated to her tent, turning at the last moment to add shyly, "Thank you… for the lesson."

He smirked. "And you will think on my… other offer?"

She opened her mouth as if to answer, closed it again, giggled nervously, and vanished into her tent.

It was not a yes… yet, but it was far from being a no, and it was almost enough for Zevran to content himself with—for now.


	3. Chapter 3

Elspeth forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply as she ran the polishing cloth down Yusaris' shining blade, trying to lose herself in the mindless, repetitive task.

"You are up late, my Grey Warden."

Elspeth jumped in surprise and nearly cut herself. "Zev! Didn't anyone ever teach you not to sneak up on people who are holding sharp objects?"

The elf smirked. "On the contrary, my dear. It is one of the things I am best at," he sat gracefully beside her. "Now tell me, what is it that keeps our fair and fearsome leader from her rest? Is it something I could help with? Some secret desire, perhaps? The way you caress that blade makes me…"

She held up a hand. "Don't. Start."

Zevran shut his mouth obediently, but his questioning gaze did not leave her face.

She sighed. "I was just… thinking. About Zathrian and… what happened with him."

One tawny eyebrow rose inquisitively. "Oh? That did not go as you had hoped?"

"Yes… no… I," she shook her head in frustration. "I don't know what I had hoped; I just… Zev, I don't want to be like him!"

Zevran leaned forward, resting his forearms on his bent knees, and studied her for a moment. "Well, you are much younger than Zathrian—but that goes without saying—you are also far more beautiful… and you have better hair," he reassured her.

That got a small, lopsided smile out of her. "Thanks… I think. Anyway, that's not what I meant. This whole time—since before Ostagar—I've only been able to think about one thing."

"Hmm, I know what you mean," His eyes roved boldly over her body. Elspeth glared, and Zevran was silent again.

"I mean sure, kill the Archdemon, end the Blight, save the world and all that," she waved a hand in the air dismissively, and it struck Zevran how incredibly alluring it was to see a beautiful woman treat matters of epic peril with such cool disregard (It also struck him that this attraction probably reflected that something was seriously wrong with him) "but the only thing I've really thought about—the only thing I've dreamt about has been getting to Arl Howe; making him pay for what he did to my family. That makes me no different than Zathrian, and look at all the pain he caused!"

"Shh," suddenly Zevran was kneeling in front of her, cupping her face between his hands. "If there is one thing you are not, my dear, it is a bitter old man. You will kill this Arl Howe because he needs to die, and that will be the end of it. Or, if you prefer, I could kill him for you. Or if you would rather I just take your mind off your troubles for the evening…"

Elspeth actually giggled at that, her blush hot against his palms. "You never stop trying, do you?"

"I told you; I am an eternal optimist."


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: Much as I love him, I think Zevran might kill me in my sleep if I keep on _almost_ giving him what he wants, so we're proceding with some more or less plot-like stuff. Warning: Taliesin, blood, death, poison, dismemberment, and a rather long chapter ahead.

* * *

Zevran was on edge. It was not the city; he liked Denerim well enough—or at least he did not _dis_like it as much as the rest of this dismal, frostbitten country—and both the accommodations and the company were far more pleasant this time than the last time he had stayed here, but he could not shake the crawling sensation of being watched… stalked… _hunted_. He prowled Arl Eamon's estate at all hours of the night, checking windows, doors, dark corners, and hidden passages (there were five of these in the estate; he had located all of them within his first day under the Arl's roof) for any signs of danger. When he wandered the streets and taverns with his Warden, preparing for the Landsmeet, every unfamiliar footfall and secretive whisper fell like a hammer blow on his ears, until his head rang with them. When at last Taliesin stepped out of the shadows, it was almost a relief to hear the familiar words, "The Crows send their greetings…"

Taliesin had a plan. Taliesin always had a plan. It was something Zevran had, at one time, admired in the other man; his ability to come up with an answer, a plan, a story at a second's notice. That had been before Rinna, before Zevran had felt for himself the pain that Taliesin's stories could cause, but even now he was tempted, if only for a moment, by the thought of going back. Then Elspeth interrupted. And because, even if she had known how, it would never have occurred to her to come at a problem sideways and smiling like a Crow, she simply stepped forward and declared that he didn't need to go back; that he didn't belong to the Crows or anyone (this was a bit of a surprise—he had come to rather like the idea of belonging to her) and quite suddenly, he lost all desire to go back to the empty smiles and poisoned words of his old life.

Taliesin's lip curled when the armor-plated bitch spoke up. He wasn't surprised; Zev had always attracted women like a mabari attracted fleas. Only difference was, a dog didn't try to hold onto its parasites. Zevran would get so sodding attached to a girl, Taliesin half-expected the elf to turn on him in favor of the Warden. And then he did. And for once in his life, Taliesin did not have an answer. So he simply signaled the attack, and began his last dance with Zevran.

Taliesin had brought eight Crows with him. Zevran was accompanied by two Wardens and an apostate mage. It was almost a fair fight. A sweep of Elspeth's mighty blade sent five assassins flying. Alistair brought his shield up sharply under the chin of a sixth, snapping the man's neck. Morrigan laughed darkly as she sent lightning coursing through the body of another Crow. Most of his foes being otherwise occupied, Zevran knelt to disarm the hidden traps lining the base of the staircase. That was when the dagger hit his shoulder blade. Zevran tried to rise to face his attacker, but a sudden chill coursed through his blood, turning his muscles to lead. He struggled to remain upright as the paralytic poison took hold. Strong fingers knotted in his hair, yanking his head up.

"Well isn't this poetic," Taliesin hissed into the elf's ear, and Zevran felt steel at his throat. "Give Rinna a kiss for me, will you… traitor!"

Suddenly the knife fell away from Zevran's throat. It was still clutched in Taliesin's hand. Which was still attached to Taliesin's arm. Which was no longer attached to Taliesin's shoulder. The Crow's cry of pain broke off in a soft, gurgling crunch as Elspeth's second swing removed his head. Released from Taliesin's grasp, Zevran slumped forward, and Elspeth was kneeling at his side in an instant.

"Antidote," he rasped with what breath his frozen lungs still contained. "Left side. Green bottle."

Hastily casting aside her armored gauntlets, Elspeth fumbled in his belt pouch, then quickly brought the tiny glass vial to his lips. Zevran swallowed, then a moment later, managed to draw a deep, shuddering breath. "And there it is," he said softly, still not looking at the corpse behind him. "Taliesin is dead and I am free of the Crows. They will assume that I am dead along with Taliesin," he went on, thinking aloud. "So long as I do not make my presence known to them they will not seek me out."

Elspeth watched his face intently. "That's a good thing… right?" she sounded oddly uncertain.

He smiled warmly. What was there to be unsure of? She could not possibly think he would be angry with her for killing Taliesin when the man had been holding a knife to his throat. "A very good thing. It is, in fact, what I had hoped for ever since you decided not to kill me. I suppose it would be possible for me to leave, now, if I wished," where had that come from? Certainly the thought had crossed his mind, but he had not meant to voice it. His voice went on without his permission. "I could go far away, somewhere where the Crows would never find me," sometime between his own failed ambush and Taliesin's attack, that idea had lost a lot of its appeal, but it was good to consider all his options, wasn't it? "I think, however that I could also stay here. I made an oath to help you, after all. And saving the world seems a worthy task to see through to the end, yes?"

She wasn't looking at him. "If you want to go, you should go."

That was completely unhelpful. He sighed. "But that is what I am asking you. Do you want me to go? Do you need me here?"

Elspeth looked at him solemnly. "I want you to do… what's best for you, Zev," she replied quietly. "This is your future we're talking about. What I want doesn't matter."

"I… am not sure how to respond to that," he floundered, searching for words. "Nobody has ever… I mean, normally, these things are decided by others," she was still waiting for a decision; for _his_ decision. "Err… then I suppose I shall… stay? Is that… good?"

"If that's what you want, then yes," She was trying not to smile, but Zevran could hear the happiness behind her words.

Bolstered by the certainty that, when first given the chance to choose his own course, he had made the _right_ choice, he grinned, then declared solemnly, "Then stay I shall. I'm with you until the end… provided you do not tire of me first. Or I die. Or you die. But there you go."

Leliana could have said it better, but she never smiled like _that_ for Leliana.


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry for the long wait/long chapter. This one just did not want to come out the way I wanted it. That and I procrastinate.

* * *

This was utterly ridiculous. Giving herself a firm mental shake, Elspeth reached for the door handle once again—and again her hand dropped to her side. With a small growl of frustration, she turned away from the door and resumed pacing her room. She bit her lip and gazed thoughtfully at the door. She had never been one of those girls who sighed over knights in shining armor and dreamed of gowns and weddings; and beyond one awkward and embarrassing kiss that she and Rory Gilmore had sworn never to speak of again, her experience with boys was virtually nonexistent.

But then… Zevran wasn't exactly a "boy", was he? He was a worldly, experienced man, and for all his flirting, a part of her was paralyzed with the fear that, if she ever did gather the courage to leave her room and invite him back to it, she would receive nothing more than a mocking smile and a pat on the head for her troubles. Elspeth sighed and ran a hand through her hair. She _would_ speak to him, she told herself. Because she had to. Because anything—even derision and rejection—was better than being stuck here, trapped in a borrowed bedroom in Arl Eamon's estate by her own fear. That decided, she gritted her teeth and reached out again. This time her hand made it to the door handle and turned. The door swung open to reveal Zevran standing in the hallway, his hand raised as if to knock. Elspeth stopped breathing. What was he doing here? He wasn't supposed to be _here_! She wasn't _ready _for him to be here yet! She stood frozen to the spot, one hand still on the door, staring blankly at him.

Zevran was the first to speak. "May I come in?" he asked mildly, ignoring Elspeth's look of shock.

She blushed furiously. "Oh! Um. Yes," she stammered, stepping backwards out of the doorway to let him through.

He walked into the room, his eyes fixed on something in his hands. After toying with the thing a moment longer, he seemed to come to a decision. "Here," he said shortly, holding it out to her.

Automatically she held out her hand, and he dropped something small and shining into it. "It seems an appropriate moment to give you this," His voice sounded almost hesitant.

Elspeth blinked at the object. "An earring?"

He smiled reminiscently. "Taken from my first ever mark with the Crows. A… trophy if you will. I always have it on me somewhere; you hadn't noticed?"

"No," she said softly, running one finger along the smooth metal curve. It almost sounded as if… But no. If there was one thing Zevran was not, it was sentimental. He could not afford to be. He had already explained that to her.

So then why did…?

"You… want to give it to me?" Maybe he could tell her what he meant by it.

He held up a hand. "Now don't get the wrong idea about it. You killed Taliesin. As far as the Crows will be concerned, I died with him. That means I'm free, at least for now. Feel free to sell it, or wear it… or whatever you'd like. It's really the least I could give you in return."

That made more sense. Sort of. Elspeth smiled and shook her head, offering the trinket back to him. "You don't need to thank me for that. And you certainly don't need to give me your earring."

Zevran reached out and gently curled her fingers back over the earring. "I…" he stopped, staring at her hand inside of his, as if searching for words. After a moment he shook his head sharply. "Look, just… just take it. It's meant a lot to me but so have…" his voice caught, but he recovered himself quickly and went on, "so has what you've done. Please," his fingers slid away from hers, "take it."

"All right," She had the feeling there was more to this than he was telling her, but if it was so important to him… "I promise I'll take good care of it."

He smiled. "I have no better way to say it. Thank you."

She sat down on the edge of the bed and held the earring up, watching the firelight play in the gem. "So this mark of yours…?"

He sat beside her, grinning. "Was a Rivaini merchant prince. He was wearing a single jeweled earring when I killed him… and not much of anything else."

Elspeth smiled mischievously. "And what were you wearing?" she asked, a little surprised at her own boldness.

Zevran chuckled. "My boots," he stretched out one leg to examine the Antivan boots she had given him. "They were not so nice as these, but a good pair of boots can be hard to come by. I like to hang on to them when I can."

She shook her head. "Princes, mages, Grey Wardens… I guess you don't meet many normal people in your line of work."

"No," he agreed. "Aside from the occasional mother-in-law, there's not much demand for the assassination of normal people. I did kill a grocer once though," he added thoughtfully.

"A grocer?" Elspeth laughed incredulously. "What was he doing? Selling people poisoned cabbages?"

"I never could get a straight answer about that," he replied with a shrug. "I believe he was either cheating his customers or competing with the wrong person for business. Possibly both. He was very paranoid—had been taking poison for years in small doses, so he was immune to everything I tried to use on him. Worse than a cockroach. Eventually I had to just cut his throat. The blood completely ruined my favorite shirt," he added, looking sad.

Elspeth bit back another laugh. "Oh dear…Wait…A cockroach?" She looked confused.

He nodded. "You can pour concentrated venom straight on them and they don't even notice. You didn't know that?"

"Um, no," she admitted. "I've never tried pouring venom on a cockroach."

"It's a demonstration they make all the Crow apprentices watch," he explained. "To show that even the smallest and weakest of targets may be able to resist the usual methods. One must know how to be… flexible."

Zevran did not know how long they sat and talked before Elspeth drifted off to sleep in mid-sentence, her head resting comfortably against his shoulder. He gave a soft snort of self-mockery. Here he was, perhaps the most feared assassin and the most skilled lover in Thedas, and she slept in his arms completely unafraid _and_ fully clothed. He must be losing his touch—and possibly his mind. Leaning back against the pillows slowly so as not to disturb Elspeth, he pressed a too-tender kiss to her brow and sighed. This was utterly ridiculous.


	6. Chapter 6

(I can post directly from my iPad now! Happy dance!)

* * *

"Maker spit on you. I deserved... more." Arl Howe's blood poured fast and thick from the gaping wound in his chest, but it was Elspeth who felt drained, empty, almost lifeles. She dropped to one knee, whether to look her foe in the eye or because her legs would no longer support her she was not sure.

"My vengeance ends here," she said softly. "Your wife, Delilah, the boys, I won't come after them... if that even matters to you. They don't deserve to suffer for your crimes."

She wiped her blade clean on the corpse's brocade doublet and got to her feet, a little surprised that her legs did not shake. She noticed gratefully that none of her companions seemed inclined to comment on the death of the Arl. Wynne shot her a brief concerned look, but said nothing, Oghren remained happily caught up in the red fog of his own battle rage, and Zevran, Maker bless him, would rather do just about anything other than discus personal feelings.

They continued through Arl Howe's dungeon. Guards and hirelings died; Arl Urien's son hurled threats and insults; a lyrium-addled templar gabbled nonsense at her and gave her a signet ring for his sister. Elspeth observed all this detatchedly as if from a great distance. She watched herself walk out of the dungeon and back to the queen's door unchallenged. This might have had something to do with the massive broadsword strapped across her back or the blood running in thin, lurid rivulets down the plates of her armor, or perhaps it was the empty, dead look in her eyes that kept the Arl's surviving lackeys at a distance; Elspeth did not care enough to speculate. She barely heard Anora's thanks when she unlocked the queen's door; hardly noticed when Anora and Erlina led them into a room full of armed guards.

"Warden! In the name of the regent, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Rendon Howe and his men at arms."

Elspeth blinked at the guard captain, then unsheathed Yusaris with a weary sigh.

The other woman set her jaw, but did not flinch. "Surrender, and you may be shown mercy."

The great blade suddenly felt heavier in her hand than it ever had before. She let the point drop to the flagstone floor with a dull clang. "Fine."

"Why surrender? We can easily take these few soldiers," Zevran, who had never once questioned her choices or motives til now, had to be near-frantic with worry to challenge her decision so, but neither his concern nor Oghren's muttered disapproval registered with Elspeth. She was too busy trying to come up with a better explanation than _I'm sick and tired of killing people today._

"They don't know what really happened here," she said at last. "They're innocent. Killing them just makes me... " she shrugged, "exactly what Loghain says I am."

The guard captain gave Elspeth a long, thoughtful look, which the Warden ignored. "I'm surprised this ended peacefully," the woman said at last, then gestured to the other guards. "Bring the Warden. Loghain doesn't care about the rest."

Elspeth handed over her blade, then followed unresistingly as the guards led her from the Arl's estate, into and out of the late afternoon sunlight, and through the great stone corridors of Fort Drakon.

Queen Anora swept into Arl Eamon's study like a small and purposeful hurricane. "Eamon! We have a problem," she announced without waiting for greetings or introductions.

"Oh good," Alistair muttered. "I was starting to worry this would be easy."

Caught between the queen's domineering determination and the prince's sullen sarcasm, Arl Eamon raised his hands placatingly. "Calm down. What has happened?"

"The Warden has been captured," Anora replied tersely.

Eamon's eyes widened. "What? How could this happen?"

"Never mind that," Anora brushed him aside. "The question is how to free her. Cauthrien will take her to Fort Drakon. Getting in will be..."

Zevran did not stay to hear what the queen thought their chances of freeing Elspeth might be. As soon as he heard where she would be held he slid, silent and unseen, out the door of the study- where only his trained reflexes and natural agility kept him from bumping into Leliana. He was not surprised; the bard seemed to be compelled to listen at doors just as Elspeth's mabari was compelled to pee on every interesting looking tree, rock, or beached rowboat he encountered.

"We have to get her out of there!" Leliana hissed, grabbing his bicep roughly.

Slightly startled, Zevran gently removed her hand and nodded at the door behind him. "I believe that is what they are all discussing," he replied mildly.

"No! Now!" Leliana's blue eyes were huge in her pale face. She took a deep breath and went on. "I know what men like this Loghain do to women they consider traitors. This cannot wait for discussion!"

Zevran smiled thinly. "It seems we are of the same mind, my dear."


End file.
